A Night at Club SWUB
by Shadow Dragon
Summary: A double-date at a night club turns out to become so much more. One thing leads to another, which leads to another...Nightclubs, Gentlemen, and very annoying cats! How can Ginny and Draco cope?


Disclaimer: My name is Ducki. There is no "JK" in front of it nor "Rowling" after it. I'm just here to play. I'll return the characters by dinner time, I promise. The Band, SWUB, belongs to Danette, DRI, Irina, and Bertie! Rock on, homies!

A/N: Ducki's attempt at a humor fic. Short, pointless, won't make you drown in over all fluffiness (a little fluff-tolerance IS required, however). You'll be laughing your socks off—but watch out for GryffindorTower people. They claim sock-stealing as their own. Bon Appetit! Enjoy!

****

A Night at Club SWUB

"Club SWUB?" Draco demanded, squinting to see if he had read the sign correctly. "What kind of club is that?"

Ginny shoved her cloak into his hands, immediately reaching up to fix her hair. "It's a club you're going to behave in," she threatened with an innocent smile "I promised Hermione that we would eat here with her and Ron. And stop snickering at the name." Draco, in the process of doing just that, rolled his eyes at her. She gave him a sunny grin, the kind she knew would give him something to think about besides the club name, as she headed towards the smoke-glass door. "C'mon, we're late."

"Fashionably late, if anything," Draco grumbled, holding the door open. He caught her hand as she passed, not missing the smile she tried to hide. The second she pulled him through the door, a volley of light and sound struck him sharply. The club was a small, brightly lit affair, tucked back in the corner of Diagon Alley. A stage sat against one wall of the club, a bar, complete with bartender and patrons, across the opposite. Purple wisps of smoke drifted into Draco's face, making him cough as Ginny led him down a short entrance hallway and into a dining room of sorts adjoined to a dance floor. A band of four women was glowing green and playing just as loudly from the stage. As Draco listened appreciatively, the drummer let loose an explosive tempo and started another song.

"Ron isn't going to hit me or anything, is he?" Although he and Ginny had been dating on and off for nearly a year, Draco had actually never seen one of the Weasley brothers face to face. As his job allowed him to work with Arthur from time to time, he'd had the opportunity to ask the older gentleman's blessing in the relationship. Arthur didn't have a problem with it, but Draco was quite positive that this didn't extend to the rest of the Weasley Clan.

"He'd better not if he knows what's good for him," Ginny remarked through a frown as she searched the room for Ron's head of telltale Weasley hair. Draco let a ghost of a smile cross his face fleetingly. "Ah! There they are!" And she stood on her tiptoes, a good half-foot shorter than Draco, and waved. "Harry's here, too," she remarked, her forehead creasing. "He brought a date—I don't recognize her." She turned to Draco, a questioning look on her face.

"I dunno, either," he agreed, feeling the dread that came with the name Harry Potter. 

Although he was sure he wasn't expressing any emotion, Ginny read his face like an open book and nodded in that irritating way she had. "We can leave if you want," she offered hesitantly, playing with the buttons of his jacket and looking straight into his eyes in that direct way that made her so attractive. "C'mon, they haven't spotted us yet. I could owl and say I got sick."

"But you haven't seen Ron in over a month, dear." Draco kissed her forehead and smiled down at her. "Let's just go and enjoy the evening. I hear Potter's fond of Quidditch, maybe we can talk about that." Ginny gave him The Look, and he knew she wasn't fooled.

"We could still go…" she started to say, but Hermione chose that instant to turn and spot them. "Well, then, let's get this show on the road." Ginny gave Draco a pained smile and headed straight for the table, the set of her shoulders telling him that she looked forward to this just about as much as he did.

"Evening, all," Draco said loudly as they reached the table. Immediately, the four stood up and looked at him warily. He sighed inwardly, letting nothing but a neutral smile show. Ginny's hand, wrapped in his own, tightened.

"Malfoy," Harry said with thinly veiled contempt, attempting to look pleasant and only managing a stiff look. The fellow should never become an actor. "I didn't expect to see you here. A…er…" And here his date stepped on his foot, which he was rapidly trying to insert into his mouth. "A pleasant surprise, nonetheless!" The last part was a bit too loud.

"Didn't expect to see you here, either, Pot—Harry. I was under the impression that Ginny and I would be meeting Ron and Hermione. It surprises me that you didn't expect me, seeing that I was one of the original members of the date," Draco forced out in the warmest tone he could manage. He extended a hand, but Ron did not do the same. He only nodded stiffly. Hermione was able to set aside past differences and shake his hand, although she avoided his eyes. Draco fought the urge to sigh—this couple was one of the most annoying Britain had to offer. He instead smiled warmly at the pair. "Evening, Ron, Hermione. And I don't believe I've met you before." This was directed at Harry's date, a rather coquettish brunette with doe-like brown eyes.

"Regina Williamson," she introduced herself in what was decidedly a French accent. "I attended at Beaubaxtons. I play on the French National Reserve Team." 

"Chaser?" Draco questioned, raising his eyebrows.

"Keeper." She turned away from him, unimpressed. This girl had to be quite the match for Harry—no doubt he would have his hands full. "You must be Ginny. Ron and Harry have told me so much about you."

"Not too much, I hope," Ginny joked, shaking Regina's hand. She gestured for everybody to be seated while Draco pulled a chair out for her. As she sat down, they locked eyes for a brief moment, each swearing to make it through this without causing or giving blood shed. Both could think of many other things they would rather be doing at that moment.

"So how have you been…Draco?" Harry forced out, the stiffness growing. "We've not seen you since Hogwarts. Haven't been getting into trouble have you?" The last was a very scantily wrapped threat—Harry obviously took his position as a Auror very seriously. With Draco as the leading candidate as the head Death Eater, this was going to be a very awkward dinner for him. 

"Trouble? Nope, none that I recall. The Minister's been slave-driving me, though," Draco pointed out thoughtfully. "He just doesn't want me to have a social life." And he looked pointedly at Ginny, who, instead of blushing as she would have done early on, rolled her eyes at him and continued looking through the menu.

"I can see why not!" Ron voiced just as a blonde waitress scurried up to take their drink orders. "Doesn't want you dating Ginny, he doesn't!" Draco only blinked, the smile reinforced in full. "Bloody Death Eater scum."

There was a long silence as Hermione buried her head in her hands, sighing. "And to think I thought he was going to behave," she swore softly.

Regina seemed to be the only one who knew a response to this declaration of open hatred. "Just a bottle of the local brew, and a bottled water for my friend here," she told the waitress, calmly directing the attention away from Ron and Draco. "Ron seems to have an anger management problem," she explained to the waitress, who nodded.

Hermione did not lift her face from her hands as the waitress scurried off. "Well, this is starting well," Ginny snapped, glaring at Ron. "Is it any wonder why Bill and Charlie always called you the family disgrace?"

"_I'm_ the family disgrace? Last time I checked, Hermione was not a Death Eater!" Ron began heatedly. Beside him, Hermione let out a faint moan from behind her hands. 

Underneath the table, Draco put a reassuring hand on Ginny's arm. He stared at Ron for a long moment, noting the redness around his eyes and nose. "It's all right," he murmured, cutting off Ron's vociferous protest. "He has a right to say such things about me—they appear true, and I've done nothing to disclose the truth."

"Truth? That's really rich, Malfoy," Harry exploded, finally breaking. "Why did you even bother to show your face at all? You've got a lot of nerve, Mal—"

_This is really going well,_ Draco's mind tittered sarcastically. "I'm sorry, Harry, if I've offended anybody with my presence," he said diplomatically, scraping his chair back and rising to his full height. It wouldn't do any good to give into the old childhood grudge now—he needed to be in this family's good graces. "Perhaps the dinner will be more enjoyable once I am gone, yes?"

Hermione did not look up from where she was rubbing her forehead and eyes tiredly. Draco caught Ginny's eye as he swept his cloak from the back of his seat, flicking his gaze to Hermione and back. Ginny nodded resignedly. "I don't see why you have to go. Harry and Ron are just being complete prats," Regina argued, standing as well. "You really should stay."

"No, indeed, I really should go." Draco placed a handful of currency on the table. "For your dinner, Ginny." Ginny looked about to protest, but Draco cut her off with a smile. "I'm supposed to be a gentleman and a lady does not pay for her own dinner. Let me, at least this once. Give me a ring tonight when you get home—I'll be exactly where you think."

And he strode off, his black cloak swishing behind him and masking the torrent of suppressed anger.

*

Ginny frowned, trying to remember which of the vast number of keys belonged to the lock on her apartment door. Normally, this wouldn't have been a problem, but she had taken slightly too much drink at…what had it been called? Oh, yes, Club SWUB. What an odd name…Ginny finally located the proper key and jammed it into the lock, shoving her shoulder against the door to push it open. It tended to stick on nights when she came home like this.

Her apartment was cluttered, as usual. Growing up with six older brothers meant that something had to be cluttered to feel homey, and Ginny's apartment was very much so. Magazines were stacked five-deep on every flat and not-so-flat surface, the pages dog-eared and highlighted. Intermingled with those were books of all sorts: romances, practical, self-help, fantasies, each an epitome of Ginny's eclectic taste. Parchment and quills lay out, most stacked atop half-used papers. Added to the strange statuettes and little gimmicks she had collected from her trip to the Americas, Ginny's apartment made for an interesting mixture.

Why did they have to be so stupid? Why did _she _have to be so stupid, for thinking that they were just going to accept the inevitable? Arthur Weasley liked Draco perfectly well and was even showing his gratitude on Draco's choice to court his only daughter. Even Molly, with her stubborn morals, saw some light of good in Draco. Draco had told her that her parents had been perfectly pleasant when he took them out to dinner to ask permission to date her. At least, Charlie and Bill, who had been absent for most of her known life, had reluctantly agreed to meet him before pounding the snot out of him. Percy didn't care either way for Draco Malfoy. It was just the twins and Ron that stood in her way. She sighed as she dropped her overlarge key chain on the couch. Why couldn't Ron at least—

"Ow!" the couch complained. "What'd'choo drop that on my head for?"

Ginny blinked. Why was the couch talking to her? A closer look showed that Draco was curled up underneath the afghan Molly had knitted for Ginny some years before. She giggled drunkenly. "What're you doing on my couch?"

"I _was_ sleeping," Draco muttered, raking a hand through his hair as he sat up. He blinked at the clock over Ginny's stove, which was in the kitchenette behind the couch, wondering when it had gotten so late. Ginny's tabby cat, a rambunctious feline named Niko, butted against his chest.

"Why?" Ginny asked. She tossed her cloak across the arm of her desk chair and sat down on the desk surface, a habit she knew annoyed him. "Get locked out of the Manor or something?"

"Hardly," Draco said testily. "I was making sure that you made it home all right." He paused, clearing his throat. "I also wanted to apologize for making you stay at the dinner and running out on you like that. It was cowardly—"

Ginny's expression darkened at the mention of dinner. "I don't want to talk about it," she said, her voice slurred. "I don't want to talk about it at all right now."

Draco's eyes widened as he stared at her. "My word! Are you drunk? It's a wonder you didn't splinch yourself."

"I'm fine," Ginny argued too quickly. "And I didn't apparate. Regina called a cab for me. She lives a couple blocks over." She disappeared off in the direction of her room, mumbling something about men and stupidity.

"Glad to see somebody had some sense," Draco muttered to Niko. In a louder voice, he called, "What'd they do, get you drunk so that they could interrogate you?" He moved his way through the kitchenette with practiced ease, pouring a glass of water for when she emerged.

"Hardly," Ginny snorted, returning in a pair of pajama pants and a white tank-top. Her hair was down, but it was obvious that she had forgotten to wipe her makeup off. "I stayed for a drink or two with Regina. Are you going home?" She smiled gratefully as he handed her the glass and took up his residence on the couch with Niko.

"No, I don't think I am. Do you mind if I steal your couch?" Draco was already pulling the afghan up around his shoulders and worming into the crevices of the warm couch.

"Just bring it back," Ginny murmured sleepily as she staggered down the hallway to her own bed.

*

Three hours later, an unstoppable force of muscle and fur butted relentlessly against Draco's hand, shoving him quite abruptly into the world of reality. He spluttered and coughed, startled as sixteen pinpricks dug into his dress shirt. "Niko!"

The tabby butted his blunt head at Draco's chin, mewing purposely. "Devil!" Draco snapped testily, considerably annoyed at being woken up again. The cat did not look insulted at his appellation, merely annoyed that Draco was not paying attention. "Dumb cat," Draco continued, trying to shove the cat away. Niko gave him a look that said very clearly, _You're on MY couch, bud._

"Your couch, is it?" Draco grumbled. "Well, you're going to have to give it up for the night." Had he been more awake, he would have laughed at himself. A twenty two-year-old man arguing with a cat? He groaned and rubbed his eyes, turning over with all intents of going back to sleep, but Niko did not give up that easily. The cat latched his claws into Draco's back this time. "Incubus!"

Well, one can imagine that went well—on Niko's part. In the end, Draco gave up the couch to the persistent feline, sighing as he settled himself on the floor. As Malfoys do NOT sleep on the floor, that didn't last long. Only twenty minutes after taking residence on the floor, Draco sat up and looked around. Niko smiled triumphantly from where he lay across the entire couch, his tabby bulk taking up more space than Draco thought was possible. Loosening his collar, he stumbled tiredly down the hallway to where he knew Ginny's room was. "Gin?"

There was a sleepy grunt in reply.

"Niko's taken over the couch and I think I may go—" he began in a voice slurred with sleep, leaning on the doorframe.

Ginny cut him off with another grunt. "Just get in. It's too late to apparate." As Draco blinked at her, she rolled onto her side and patted the bed next to her. "And don't get any ideas. Mum would flip." Seeing tiny Molly Weasley doing backflips made him blink and realize he desperately needed more sleep. He climbed in, his movements strangely awkward from exhaustion, and burrowed close to Ginny. Somehow, he thought as he yawned closer to dream land, waking up in the morning wouldn't be too hard…

*

"Where _is_ she?" Ron growled, glaring into his coffee. "She promised us she would meet us here at eight!"

"Ron," Hermione yawned, "it's seven thirty." Not a morning person by any sort of nature, she was nursing a cup of the strongest coffee her house had to offer. Her hair, which had tamed down since Hogwarts, was pulled into a careless ponytail and she was wearing, above all else, a T-shirt and an old pair of jeans. She, Ron, Harry, Regina, and Ginny were planning to meet up and go for a hike to do some researching on magical herbs for her work. "And Harry and Regina aren't here yet, either."

Ron subsided with a grumble. "I don't trust Malfoy. He seduced her, I know it."

Hermione took a long swallow of coffee. "Malfoy was being more of a gentleman than you were last night, dear," she remarked absently. Ron bristled and glared at his wife as though she had kicked him. "He was nothing but civil to you. Now shut up and drink your coffee."

Ron chugged his coffee and slapped the mug back onto the table. "I'm going to get Ginny," he announced plainly. "She shouldn't have to travel anywhere by herself."

Hermione slammed her mug down. "Ron! She is _twenty-one_! She doesn't need you to hold her hand anymore! I'm sure Ginny is quite capable of apparition by now. She has been doing it for four bloody years, after all. Sit down!" Ron grudgingly did so, leaning over his coffee and muttering. Hermione rolled her eyes and wished Regina were here. The French Keeper made for a good companion and a friend to talk to when Ron was being downright stubborn. Like right now.

Hermione stood up to get another cup of coffee as Ron moved into the living room and turned on the WWN, still sulking. _I wish he would grow up sometimes_, Hermione sighed in her head. _He's stuck in the perpetual twelve-year-old mode._

"It's five after eight!" Ron suddenly shouted, barging into the room and making Hermione jump. "She's not here yet!"

Hermione wrinkled her nose as she sat down with her mug. "She probably overslept. Why don't you call Harry and find out why _he's_ late instead of worrying about Ginny? You could call Ginny, too, you know." She paced to the window and moved the curtain aside to discover that it was raining. "Ugh, never mind. Call Harry and tell him that the trip is cancelled. I'm not digging up flowers in the rain." Ron sighed, but moved to the fireplace to do as he was told.

He returned a moment later. "I'm not going to call Ginny. I'll let her show up on her own. If she's not up by eight thirty, I'm going over there."

*

Loud knocking woke Draco and made him lift his head. He glanced about sleepily, first noting that he was not in his room and then noticing that he was not alone. He tried to move away. Of course, this was rather hard because something was thrown across his neck, effectively pinning him down. It took him a moment to figure out that it was the slender arm attached to the world's most beautiful young woman. She had burrowed her face into his shoulder and was pushed close against him—he assumed that it was because her bed sheets were rather cold for such a night. He really didn't have time to think about buying her new bed sheets right now, though. Somebody was knocking and Ginny wasn't even awake.

"Hello?" he called sleepily, detaching himself from the warmth of Ginny and sitting up. "Who's out there?" He stood up and moved to the door, only partially awake. He had gotten more sleep than Ginny, but it certainly didn't feel like that.

In the bed, Ginny stirred, turning over now that Draco's body heat was gone. As much as Draco wanted to rejoin her, the loud knock came again, followed by an annoyed grunt. Draco's blood froze to ice as heard Hermione's voice mutter soothingly to somebody on the other side of the door, presumably Ron or Harry. _Great. The Potter Brigade is here to come down on me, _he thought with delicious crankiness. _Wonder what I've done this time._

He straightened his shirt quickly and strode to the door. Planting a very curious expression over his habitual smirk, he ran a hand through his hair to tame it down. One calming breath later, he pulled open the door and smiled broadly at Ron and Hermione. "Ron, Hermione!" he said loudly in the voice used to greet old friends. "Great! I was just about to make breakfast. How do you like your eggs?"

From the bedroom, Ginny grunted in her sleep. Ron stared at Draco, agape, before glancing in that direction. "What's the matter?" Draco continued innocently, wide-eyed as Ginny groaned, obviously stretching.

Ron promptly swore and dropped all promises to his father. Draco was given no time to duck as Ron's fist connected with his chin and sent him staggering back. The smile disappeared as Draco straightened, eyes glittering maliciously. "What?" he asked, decidedly contained. "You're not going to wish me a good morning before knocking the bloody life out of me?"

"Ron!" Ginny was awake and angry, wrapping a robe around her kickback pyjamas. "What are you all doing here so early?" She glanced at the clock, seemed to remember her appointment, and swore. Hermione sent her a reproving look.

"I'm making breakfast," Draco said smoothly, ignoring the fact that his chin burned from Ron's punch. The Gryffindor punched hard, but he could not stand up to Draco in a duel. The Slytherin relished the thought of poking him with a large steak knife. "I'm not sure what Ron and Hermione are doing, but eggs are apparently a touchy subject for Ron. Best not mention chickens either—he might go full-out and kick you."

"Eggs? You're worrying about eggs?" Ron demanded, eyes bulging. He gave Hermione a pained look, but she was intrigued by a painting on the wall (held up with scotch tape, of all things). "You've turned my sister into a scarlet woman!"

Draco chose to ignore this and dropped a kiss on Ginny's cheek as he passed. "How do you want your eggs, Gin?" he asked on his way to the kitchenette. "And did you want any, Hermione?"

This appeared to infuriate Ron even further. The red-head, already scarlet to the tips of his ears, stalked across the small living room. Draco did nothing to defend himself as Ron grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him none-too-gently into the wall. A picture of the Weasley family fell and Draco dodged out of the way to avoid it. "Problem, Ron?" he asked coolly, waving his wand to repair the broken frame. "Can I make you some bacon since you have such trouble dealing with eggs?"

Before Ron could do something drastic, Hermione grabbed his arm and hauled him back to the couch. "He has done nothing to you," she reproved harshly. "Stop acting like a child who needs to go to bed earlier." Ron flushed fully at this, but allowed Hermione to push him onto the couch. Draco bustled about the kitchen, busying himself with preparing the eggs.

"I demand an explanation about this. What are you doing at Ginny's flat at eight thirty in the morning?" Ron snapped. He looked around edgily, almost expecting lingerie and other items strewn about the living room. He found nothing.

"Well, right now I'm cooking breakfast. If you really must know the nitty gritty details, I broke in after I left the club last night and fell asleep on the couch." Draco cracked eggs into a bowl and mixed them rapidly with a fork. "At about three this morning, Niko," and he jerked his head at the large tabby, "decided that he wanted the couch." Bacon sizzled as he dropped it into the pan, watching it crackle and snap at him. "So I slept on the floor. Ginny, I might add, is fully clothed in the same clothing she went to bed in last night. Not a stitch was removed from her body, unless you count the sock she kicked off."

Ginny and Hermione both winced as Ron's face turned a deeper shade of red. Draco smirked into his cookware. "You mean you two didn't…?" Ron gasped to Ginny.

Ginny shook her head firmly. "Never. Unlike you, Draco is a gentleman." Ron's eyes narrowed at the insult, but Hermione's hand on his arm kept him from saying anything regrettable. "It would be nice if you stopped babying me long enough to notice that I'm over twenty. I can take care of myself." Ron, flabbergasted, had nothing to say as she disappeared into her bedroom.

Draco had finished cooking breakfast by the time that Ginny returned, showered and dressed for the day. She sat in the recliner and pulled her legs under her, respecting the silence that had fallen over Ron and Hermione. Ron was staring hard at the cover of a "Werewolf Monthly" (Ginny had a fetish for dark creatures; being a journalist, she read up on everything) and Hermione was consulting a glass of water Draco had handed her. Draco himself was filling up dishes of omelets and bacon and toast. When he delivered these to the group sitting in the living room, the silence reigned on.

"Why're you being _nice_?" Ron finally demanded, frustrated that he couldn't think of an explanation. "You were never nice at Hogwarts." He had been picking at the bacon, shredding it to tiny bits while he thought.

"In case you haven't noticed," Draco said dryly as he cut up his omelet and shoveled that onto his toast, "I've changed. I hope you've grown up, too, though." He hid a malignant smirk behind a large bite of toast.

"Why?" Ron's eyes narrowed suspiciously and Ginny's hands tightened on her fork. Draco sent her a reassuring glance. "Are you insulting me?"

"Insulting you? No, of course not." Draco paused, looking hard at Hermione (who was picking at her omelet). "I'm just hoping you've managed to grow up since seventh year. It's essential, I think."

"_Why_?"

"Because Ron, Jr.—help us all—is going to need a father figure."

Ron stared at him for a long moment, eyes as wide as saucers, before turning to his wife. Hermione flushed red and avoided his eyes, staring fixedly at her untouched bacon. One hand twirled a strand of her wayward hair. Finally, she gave the smallest of nods. "Ron…junior? You're…you're _pregnant?_" Ron demanded, his mouth hanging open.

"Ron, close your mouth," Ginny advised, nodding sagely.

Ron turned to look at her. In classically slow motion, his eyes rolled back into his head and he fainted onto the blue carpeting.

"Well, that went well," Draco said into the shocked silence that followed. Ginny turned to look at him, eyes bugging. To irk her further, he smirked and took a large, pointed bite of omelet. Her exasperated look did not disappear, drilling into him now. "What? It's not my fault, really! He's the one that didn't notice the symptoms. Honestly, you'd think he'd watch out—he _is_ a Weasley." He laughed and dodged when Ginny smacked him with the copy of 'Werewolf Monthly.' "I deserved that."

"Yes, you did."

On the floor, Ron mumbled incoherently.

"It's going to be a long year," Hermione voiced mournfully.


End file.
